Thunderbirds: Hunger Games
by SarahCoury
Summary: What happens when Gordon Tracy volunteers for the Hunger Games?
1. Chapter 1

"That was so _stupid_."

It's Virgil, and he's pissed. That's how Gordon knows it's real. That's how he knows he really did it, because there's really only one thing that gets Virgil so worked up, and it's the Games. He hates them - always has. Spends hours talking about rebellion when he thinks no one important's listening. At least now, he's got a good reason. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that we couldn't let Alan go."

"Alan was reaped," Virgil snaps. "It sucks and it was terrifying, but he was reaped, so at least he had an excuse. But then you go a volunteer yourself - god, Gordon. Do you ever think about consequences? You _know_ the career pack is going to be all over you now, right? A volunteer from District 4 - they'll _slaughter_ you. You shouldn't have done it."

"So, what?" Gordon barks. "You're saying we should have let Alan go? The kid's an _engineer_ from _District 4_ , Virg. He cleans the _dam_ for a living. What's he going to do in the arena - throw a wrench at them?"

"I'm _saying_ that you shouldn't have volunteered."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

" _You_ shouldn't have done anything!"

And then it hits him. Virgil's not pissed because Gordon _volunteered_. He's pissed because _Gordon_ volunteered. "You should have let me do it," Virgil says, and Gordon doesn't know how he's supposed to respond.

But he doesn't have to, because the door to that rich room swings open before he can say anything. At first, Gordon thinks it must be a Peacekeeper, telling Virgil that his time is up, and Gordon panics. He didn't even get to say goodbye yet, but his heart slows to a semi-regular pace once he realized that it's just Scott.

And Alan.

Alan's been crying. Gordon can see it in his puffy eyes and runny nose. For a second, he wishes he could join his little brother, but he knows how stupid that would be. There are cameras everywhere, and he can't risk letting the other tributes see him that way.

But Alan has no such reservations. As soon as he locks eyes on Gordon, the waterworks start up again, and not even the nearby ocean can compete with him. "I'm sorry," Alan squeaks. "I'm so sorry."

And then Gordon's _down_ , and he's squeezing his kid brother tighter than he thinks is possible. "Me too," he says. "Me too, bud."

"You should have just let me go," he says, and Gordon can start to feel the tears through the shoulder of his shirt. "You should have just let it happen. I could have done it - I could have gone."

Gordon pulls his brother away, holds him at arms length, and studies him. He's so smart, little Alan. Just like John. Gordon wouldn't be surprised if, one day, Alan gets recruited to study in space, too. He smiles at the thought of those two, floating around up there with the stars, looking for new worlds to colonize. It's a better life up there - guaranteed food and exercise. Steady pay. Limited contact with the Capitol. It's the brightest future Gordon knows.

Gordon's going to spend the rest of his life catching fish on the other side of the dam. That's not a future he minds giving up. Not if it means Alan gets to keep his. "Study hard, okay?" he says. "Hit the books, go to class, ask questions. _Never_ stop asking questions."

"This isn't _fair_."

"No. No Al, it's not. But it's the way things are right now, okay?"

"Why?"

Gordon smiles. "Attaboy."

He stands and rubs his hands in his brother's hair. Alan doesn't fix it and that's how Gordon knows Alan's really out of it.

But he doesn't have time to think about it - doesn't have time to think about anything anymore - because Scott's pulling him in close. He's got a firm hand on the back of Gordon's neck and Scott's looking right into his eyes. "You're skilled."

Gordon manages a laugh, but there's not much heart in it. This is Scott, after all. He doesn't have to pretend with Scott. "How nice of you to notice, Scotty. I was just thinking-"

Scott shakes him, hard, and Gordon knows that neither of them has the time or the patience to deal with jokes. "You're fast. You're clever. You can _swim_ , Gordon."

"I know."

"Make sure you eat and make sure you drink."

"I know."

"But Gordon," Scott catches Gordon's eyes and locks on again. If feels like a long time before Scott says, "You're charming. Don't forget that. You're a charming guy and you _have_ to get sponsors."

And it's finally all too much. He drops his gaze, and every overwhelming thought he's been having since the reaping starts to bloat up in his mind until his head's too full. His eyes start to sting and he has to bite his lip so that Scott doesn't see it it quiver. _Don't cry,_ he tells himself. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_. "Who are we kidding, Scott?" he says. "No one under fifteen ever makes it out of the Games."

"You will," Scout says, and it's really more of a demand. "You're going to come home."

They both know it's not the truth.

Gordon steals another glance at Alan, then turns back to Scott. "Get him to space, will ya?"

Scott just stares, like he's taking a picture and storing it somewhere in his head. The Last Time I Ever Saw My Brother: a piece by Scott Tracy. Gordon hates it, because he knows this _isn't_ the final time Scott's going to see him. The final time Scott sees him, Gordon will be dead and bleeding, probably by the hand of someone in the career pack. The final time Scott sees his brother, it'll break his goddamn heart.

The door opens again, a man in a sharp white uniform here to tell them that time's up. Scott pulls Gordon in, holding on like he's going to fend off the entire Capitol with that one hug. Alan clings on, too, his arms wrapped around Gordon's waist. Even Virgil, clearly still mad as hell, brings himself in, knowing that he'll regret it if he never hugs his brother again. "Come home," Scott whispers. "You have to come home."

It takes seven peacekeepers to drag those three boys out of the Justice Building. It takes seven peacekeepers to pull the Tracy brothers apart.

And then Gordon's alone, the room too quiet against the noise in his mind, and it feels like he's been dragged out of the building, too. It feels like the part of him standing in the center of this big, velvet room is nothing more than a shell. The rest of him is still stuck in Scott's grip, just about ready to cry.

"I have to come home," he says to his own echo. And he does. He has to come home, or else he'll never be whole again.


	2. Chapter 2

The train's nice. It's how Gordon's always imagined the Capitol - bright colors and even brighter smells. It's got fluffed up pillows and elegant chandeliers and the best damn food Gordon's ever tasted in his life, so yeah. The train's nice. But it's not home. Home is ten miles back and getting farther every second. Home is Virgil frying up fish on the stove while Scott and Alan set the table. Home smells like settled sea salt and feels like family.

The train isn't home. It's not even close.

But there is one thing - one thing that reminds Gordon of what it feels like to be back in District 4. It's the girl. He's seen her before, he's sure. Dark skin and long black hair. She's in Alan's grade and she likes to fight. She'll be good in the Games.

Until then, the two of them stuck on a furry sofa together with nowhere to run, he's never noticed how harsh she really is. He's never noticed how straight she sits or how hard a line her mouth makes when she's not thinking about it. Sure, he's always known she could throw a hit - Alan's come home with a black eye or two in his day - but it's only there, on that train, that he really thinks about just how hard that hit feels. "They call you KO, right?" Gordon dares to ask. "As in, like, knock out?"

There's the faintest clicking from metal on mahogany as the train zooms on. The fur on the pillows dances and floats in the too-clean air. An ornate golden clock ticks from the far corner of the room and, for exactly seven seconds, Gordon wonders if she heard him. He's about to repeat himself, but then, without looking at him, the girl answers, "Kayo. As in Kyrano. Tanusha Kyrano."

"Oh," he says, but it's only a brief reprieve from the silence. Within seconds, they're back to awkward nothingness. Gordon can't stand it. "I'm Gordon," he blurts. "Gordon Tra-"

"I'm sorry," she says, sharp and brutal. For a moment - only a single moment - he sees something a little more human about her. Something more than the all the courtyard rumbles and his brother's stories. She looks up at the chandelier and Gordon knows she's trying to fight the tears as hard as she fights everything else. "But can we _not_ do this?"

"Do... what?"

"This," she says, standing, and Gordon tries not to take offense when she gestures to all of him. "This friendship thing. I'm not doing it. It's just going to make it harder when one of us has to kill the other."

She's pretty abrasive, but that doesn't change the fact that she's right. Only one of them will be alive by the end of this thing, and that's assuming that either of them make it. From this point on, half the people Gordon meets are going to want him dead. And, he guesses, from this point on, he's going to want them dead, too.

So he doesn't argue and the two of them seem to silently agree on some sort of twisted anti-friendship pact. Kayo: not a friend. Got it. At least she's being honest about the whole thing.

The doors on the opposite side of the carriage slide open and all Gordon can see is _pink_. Pink hair and pink cheeks. Pink shoes all the way up to the pink hat. Her smile and her personality are just as pink as the rest of her as she says, "Congratulations." He watches her set a lacy pink glove on her lacy pink hip. "Welcome to the Games."

His whole life, Gordon's never thought that there was anything welcoming about the Games, but when her powder pink lips say the words, he almost believes there might be. That's how good she is at this. That's how good she is at convincing her tributes that it's an honor to be here. Virgil had always said that the Capitol sent in their prettiest smooth-talkers to collect the tributes. That way it's harder to get angry.

And Virgil's right. It is hard to get angry at her.

Or, well, it is for him. Kayo doesn't seem to have the same problem. "When do we start training?"

The woman frowns. "I thought you might like to take a moment to-"

"There are going to be people in that arena that have years of training over me," Kayo snaps. "I don't exactly have a moment."

"My, you're a fiery one, aren't you?"

"Listen, lady-"

"Penelope," the woman says, sounding like a lightning strike. "I do have a name and I do expect you to use it. The thing you must understand about the Games, dear, is that proper etiquette is the difference between life and death. Let that be your first bit of training."

Kayo crosses her arms and lets out a hurumph. The act inspires Gordon to see her as she really is - a child, no older than his kid brother. Gordon's still a child himself, of course, but Kayo is _even_ smaller and her odds are _even_ slimmer. They're just a pair of kids, riding a well-furnished train to their deaths - not that the residents of the Capitol will see it that way. To them, Gordon and Kayo aren't kids, they're long shots. Improbabilities. The tributes that will bring all betting for District 4 to a temporary standstill.

He and Kayo aren't human. Not anymore.

It is this realization that robs him of any fight he had. It is this realization that might just kill him before he even enters the arena.

But Kayo… well, Gordon suspects that Kayo's never going to lose her fight. Not until the very end. "I need to speak to my mentor."

That's right. Mentors. Gordon had completely forgotten about the mentors. Some of the kids back home have been training with victors for years - trying to strengthen their odds at winning the Games and living life in the Victors Villiage. Gordon's never wanted any part of the Games or the wealth that comes with a win - he'll take a full life with his brothers anyday - but Kayo sounds like she's already been training with someone for a while.

And then Gordon remembers. He's not the only volunteer from District 4.

But no. Kayo's not a career. She's in Alan's grade. This is her first year as a candidate for tribute. All the careers wait until they're seventeen or eighteen.

Penelope's lips are pursed now, clearly disapproving of Kayo's tone. "Yes," she says. "Well, due to your… circumstances"-she glances to Gordon, then back to Kayo-"a mentor has been assigned to you. Both of you. He will be meeting us in the Capitol."

Because they're kids, Gordon thinks. Because they're good as dead. Those are the circumstances. District 4 isn't going to waste their resources on a pair of lost causes. One mentor, two kids, and try again next year.

"You can't do that!" Kayo screams. "I have a mentor."

Penelope is not a fan of the screaming. "Oh?" she says. "Because I _personally_ checked your file before we left the Justice Building, dear, and there was no record of a parent or guardian ever enrolling you in a training program."

At this, for once, Kayo is silent.

"I'm sorry," Penelope says, and Gordon thinks that she might actually mean it. "It's out of my hands. Please, enjoy the food."

Gordon doesn't know if it's true. He's sure things aren't really out of her hands. She's probably got more pull than she lets on, but it doesn't really matter. In a week, he'll be dead and Penelope will still be alive and he's not going to spend his last few days fighting with her.

Because this is his life now. This is it. He can actually imagine the end as inevitable rather than eventual, so when Kayo stomps around the carriage and slumps back onto the sofa, he turns away, checks for cameras, and he lets himself cry.


End file.
